The Road
by MissScorp
Summary: Oneshot collection. It all began with Dean saying, "Dad's on a hunting trip." Nothing was the same after that. Series of pieces looking at the road that Sam and Dean have traveled and the monsters they've faced along the way.
1. Beginnings

"Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Jess lifted her head to look at Sam, her face conveying her worry and concern. She had never even met their dad. Yet, there she was sweating about him being missing. _Got yourself a good girl there, Sammy_ , Dean thought as he fought a grin. Sam's expression, though, didn't waver. Dean found himself starting to get frostbite from all those icy glares he was getting. Not like it could be helped. He needed Sam's help and that was all there was to it.

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift." Snow was warmer than Sam's tone. "He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

 _He'll stumble back in sooner or later_ translated to he would come home when he was good and ready. Dean heaved a soft sigh and ducked his head in order to hide his irritation and disappointment. _C'mon, Sam_ , he said silently to his younger brother. _You ain't hearin' what it is I am tryin' to tell you_. _No matter_ , he thought as he slowly lifted his head and stared at his brother. _Just gonna have to try something else to get you to hear what I'm saying_.

"Dad's on a hunting trip." He paused just long enough for those words to sink in. Sam's face might have remained perfectly composed, but his eyes told him how his brother had picked up on that subtle hint. _Attaboy, Sammy_ , he thought as his lips kicked up at the corners. _Don't let me down, now_. He shot a quick look at Jess, appreciating the view despite the warning glare he got from his brother. He could tell by her blank expression that she had not figured out that he and his brother were speaking in code. Figuring that meant the coast was all clear and that he could make his final point, he said, his voice dropping an octave, "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Silence reigned for a number of tense seconds. Seconds where Dean imagined Sam shrugging him and his worries about dad off. He half-imagined him telling him how it was probable that dad was just so wrapped up in hunting whatever it was he was after that he simply forgot to call. _Dad will make contact once he finishes whatever job he is on_ was something of a religious chant in their family. However, Dean knew that wasn't the case. Something, he didn't know what, told him this wasn't just some case of John Winchester getting so involved in a hunt that he simply had forgotten to make contact. No, something wasn't right about this.

Something wasn't right about it at all.

He could tell by the slight change in Sam's expressions that he had picked up on that veiled point. The stone-cold mask his brother had been wearing since finding out he was his midnight intruder, slid away. Dean saw a small kernel of fear, mixed with a good deal of worry and doubt, form in the pit of Sam's eyes. Despite all the angry words that had been said the last time he and their dad were face-to-face, he was still their father. He had been counting upon Sammy wanting to make sure dad was okay. He knew it was the only way to get him to help search for him.

 _That's right_ , he told his brother silently. _This ain't dad just being dad. Somethin' is wrong and we need to shag ass in order to find out what_.

"Jess?" Sam's eyes never left Dean's. "Can you excuse us for a moment? We need to go outside."

And with those words, everything about their lives changed.

Forever.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all, and welcome! I don't own anything here save for my own interpretations and spins on the material. Everything Supernatural belongs to Supernatural. I just promise to return the players in a gently used condition once I am done playing with them.

This is tagged to **1x01**


	2. A Son's Plea

"Dad?" Dean tried to keep the desperation out of his voice but knew he was failing. "Dad, I really need to hear from you. I don't know what you're doing..."

And he didn't rightly give a crap. He didn't care about whatever the hell it was his dad was doing. Nothing could be so important that it necessitated him cutting off all contact. He didn't say that, though. He figured his dad would be able to put two and two together and come up with that answer for himself.

"Look, Sam is with me. We're in Jericho." He closed his eyes for a moment, more of a long blink than anything else. "I got your journal."

 _The planted journal with the usual ex-Marine crap you use whenever you want us to do something, but can't just ask_ us _or tell us straight out about what it is you want us to do._

He didn't say that part out loud, either.

"Could you, uh, could you just call me back?"

God, he sounded like such a whiny little bitch. Not like there was any other choice. He hoped the concern in his voice might break through his dad's focus long enough to get him to respond to his request for some sort of message that said he was alive.

"Hell, leave me a message, a text, an email, anything." He didn't add the please that all but tossed itself off his tongue. "Sam and I just wanna know you're alright. Okay?"

He knew there wouldn't be a response even before he hung up the phone. There hadn't been a response to the dozens of other voicemails that he left over the last few days. Still, he held out hope. He didn't know if that made him a pathetic believer or a blithering idiot.

The way he saw it?

It was a mixture of both.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged still to **1x01**


	3. PS I love you

She watches Sam enter the bedroom, his lips crooked upwards in that goofy grin she so loves and eating one of the chocolate chip cookies she baked just for him. He sits down on the edge of the bed - _their bed_. It's a scene they have played out the handful of other times when one of them had gone away for a few days.

Only, this time the scene is not going to go as planned.

This is not the homecoming either of them imagined after they hung up the phone earlier that afternoon.

She is not going to laugh and roll atop him after he flops on his back.

He is not going to smile and teasingly ask, "Did you miss me?"

She won't reply by giving him one kiss for every day he ended up being gone.

And he won't fold those long arms around her and assure her he will, "Not be tagging along with his brother again anytime soon."

There wouldn't be any more soft touches sweeping over hypersensitive skin. No more moist breath rasping over dewy flesh. No more soft sighs filling the silence. No more promises of forever, no more looking forward to all those tomorrow's, no more hopes and dreams for them to laugh over, no more memories for them to recall when they were old and gray.

Pain ripples from the long and ugly gash across her abdomen. It is nothing, however, to the blinding, biting pain tearing apart her heart and melting her soul. Through the waves of pain and fear, she sees Sam frown. His hand edges towards her side of the bed, clearly searching for her and coming up empty.

"Jess?" he calls softly, his brow puckering more with curiosity than worry and concern. "Jess, where are you?"

She desperately tries to make her mouth work so she can tell him to look up, to see what the man with the oddly colored yellow eyes has done to her, but the words are stuck, frozen in her throat, forever. Blood drips off her nightgown, splattering on his forehead and cheek, and staining the pillow upon which his head lies.

The drops remind her of the glaze on a candied apple, all thick and syrupy and shiny. Sam's eyes pop open and meet hers. She reads his shock, his fear, his horror, and his pain but is helpless to do anything about it. Not pinned to the ceiling as she is by invisible hands.

Sam lets out a loud gasp when he realizes where she is staring down at him from. He shoots upright in the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. On his face she can see how there is nothing he can do to help her. He can't stop what is going to happen any more than he can stop a volcano from erupting.

"Jess!" His anguish rips at her. "Jess, no!"

How she wishes she could reach out and stroke his cheek. How she wishes she could tell him she forgives him for never telling her the truth, for keeping who he really was a secret from her, for not warning her about how the monsters she thought got locked up in San Quentin, were actually real. Most of all she wishes she could tell him she loves him, she will always love him, but a wall of flames engulfs her.

 _Sam_... is Jessica Moore's last thought before the fire consumes her, heart, body and soul.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

Last piece tagged to **1x01**


	4. Facing the Truth

"You didn't try and tell her the truth."

It was an appropriate accusation. He hadn't ever really tried to tell Jess the truth. Not about himself, his family, hunting, none of it. He told himself he couldn't tell her the truth because he couldn't chance it. He risked losing her if he told her every dark secret he had. At least, that's what he kept telling himself when the guilt about his omissions would eat away at his resolve. He had almost convinced himself it was time to reveal his every secret to her when he decided to propose to her. Yet when the opportunity to tell her the truth presented itself, he hadn't.

"You never told her about who you really are, because you were afraid she'd think you a freak and leave you." His reflection sneered at him, damning him for the liar he was. "But it's more than that, isn't it?" His eyes started to burn and he swallowed back a groan. He felt a sticky ooze trickle out from the corner of his eyes and slowly run down his face in one long, synchronized set of rivulets. He knew it was blood by its tangy, coppery aroma. However, there was nothing he could do to stop Bloody Mary. Not when she had him so completely snared in her deceptive little glass web.

"Those nightmares you were having of Jessica dying?" She taunted in a low hiss. "Those visions of her screaming and burning? You were having them for days before she died."

Every word was another arrow shot into his already fractured heart. Every word was another bit of truth he had tried so hard to deny, to ignore, and that he wanted to go away. Every word was another reminder about how he failed to protect Jess, to keep her safe from the monsters he knew were out there. The monsters who had already taken away the mother he never got a chance to know.

"You were dreaming of her burning like your mother did and you didn't say anything to her." The words were a low growl. His face in the glass contorted, shifted between his own image and that of Bloody Mary. "You were so desperate to not believe that what was going on was a premonition that you made yourself believe they were just dreams. How could you ignore the truth? How could you ignore the warning?" His voice rose an octave with every question until he shouted, "How could you leave her alone to die?!"

It was the question that Sam had asked himself since the night Jess died at the hands of the same thing that murdered his mom.

"I..."

Dean's crowbar went through the mirror.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope the week has been good!

This is tagged to episode **1x05**


	5. Seven Years Bad Luck

As soon as Bloody Mary turned into nothing more than crimson fragments and specks of glittery dust, Dean took the mirror containing her dopple's reflection and tossed it atop the pile. It shattered in a hailstorm of shards that rolled out across the sea of glass already spread out across the tile.

 _Take that, bitch_ , Dean thought as he drew a shaky breath. He glanced about the showroom floor, mentally taking inventory of the damage they'd caused but satisfied that nobody else would fall victim to the malevolent spirit known as Bloody Mary. There was glass and empty, broken frames everywhere. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Dean. _Man, if it weren't for bad luck, our family wouldn't have any luck at all_ , he thought as he covered a chuckle with a cough.

"Hey?" He didn't quite manage to keep the perverse amusement running through him from his voice. "Sam?"

There was a groan before Sam replied, "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean indicated the dozens of smashed mirrors with the wave of one hand. "This has gotta be like... what?" A silly grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Six hundred years or so of bad luck?"

"More like a thousand."

"Dude, we're officially screwed."

Sam managed to snort a laugh as he slowly pulled himself up to his feet. He glanced over at him, the ghost of a smile hanging upon his lips.

"Guess it means you're not gonna get lucky again."

Dean's mind filled with images of him striking out in every dive bar and joint they popped into. That superstition possibly coming true didn't just horrify him, it positively terrified him.

"Man," he groused as he grabbed his crowbar and started making his way from the gallery. "Don't even joke about crap like that."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope you're doing well!

This episode is tagged to **1x05**


	6. Shifters

_He_ (for he didn't really have a name of his own) slowly paced around the tied-up hunter- _Sam_ , he recalled after doing a bit of sifting through the plethora of thoughts and memories the elder Winchester brother had _oh so thoughtfully_ shared with him during their moment of bonding. He felt very much like the hyena who had captured a tasty gazelle. He was the victorious one this time. He had proven his superiority over the inferior human species. He had won. He had proven he was the better hunter. The way he saw it? He could relish his victory. He could savor it. Play with his food a bit.

"Now, I don't know about you," he said conversationally. "But I am actually finding this whole situation to be just a bit funny."

No answer came from Sam. Disappointing but not unexpected. Losers were always spoilsports. And he could afford to be magnanimous.

"Hell, I even am finding myself able to empathize with poor, misunderstood and unloved Dean."

There was a small scoff and then Sam lifted his head to look at him with those soulful eyes. He could see the bruises creeping black over that perfect skin. Needle-thin rivulets of blood leaked out from dozens of small cuts on his forehead, cheek and by the corner of his right eye. There was a deep rip in his lower lip that dripped crimson caramel he just ached to taste.

"Yeah?" Sam's voice was deceptively soft. Yet he could hear the rage that simmered just below that calm. "And why's that?"

His lips — well, _Dean's_ lips - kicked up at the corners. "Is it really that hard to understand, Sam?"

"Apparently, it is."

"Come, come now," he softly chided. "You and I both know your brother feels all alone. And that the reason for why he doesn't allow himself to get close to anyone is because he fears them leaving him." A small smirk twisted one corner of his lips. "Like _you_ left him."

"That's not-"

"True?" He smiled fully now. "Well, we both know that is a lie, now, don't we?"

"No!" Sam denied in a heated tone. "It's not! You're wrong!"

"Lessee here, hm?" He bent down so they were eye-level. "First, dear ole mommy left. Then daddy left. Then _you_ left. And you leaving hurt him the most."

"You're wrong!"

"Am I, Sammy? Am I really wrong?"

"Yes! You are!"

"You got to go to school. Have friends. A smokin' hot girlfriend. What did Dean get to do? Follow daddy around? Obey his every command? Hell, he did everything daddy asked him to, and he ditched him. _Again_!" He barked a laugh. "No explanation, nothin', just _poof_. Gone. Without a trace."

"No!"

"Yes." He slowly rose to his feet. "Poor little Dean had to run and get you from school just so he wouldn't be all alone in this cold world of ours."

"You're wrong!" Sam struggled against the ropes holding him to the beam he tied him too. "You don't know a damn thing about me or my brother!"

Oh, but Sammy was wrong about that. He did know all about Dean Winchester. He had access to all of Dean's thoughts and memories. To every one of his feelings. That's why he knew...

"All Dean wants is for someone to love him. But there isn't anybody who loves him, is there? There won't ever be anybody to love him. Because who can love a freak?" He tilted his head to the side, enjoying the pain that crossed Sam's face at those words. "Right?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope things are well with you!

This is tagged to episode **1x06**


	7. A Father's Struggle

"Mary's spirit..." He had to pause to allow the never quite gone grief to pass before he could continue. "Do you…?" He swallowed down the hurt and anger and fear to do backflips in his gut and lifted bleary eyes to the woman standing in the entryway of her living room. "Do you think she actually saved our boys from whatever was in our old house?"

Missouri Mosely gave him a look that told him louder than words about how thick-witted she thought him at that moment. Hell, he knew he was acting like a dim-wit but dammit he needed to know for sure. Missouri heaved a soft sigh and muttered something he assumed was unflattering beneath her breath.

"I do think it was Mary's spirit that protected them, boys, yes," she said finally. "And so do you."

"Yeah." He heaved a sigh. "I do know it was Mary. I just needed to hear that someone else believed it, too."

"Them boys know it was their mother who saved them."

"I know they do."

On the outside, he appeared to be cool, calm and collected. Everything a hunter was supposed to be. On the inside, however, he felt like a man caught in the middle of a blizzard. It was how a father felt when his children were being hunted by something he didn't know how to protect them from. There was an audible sigh. Then Missouri broke the silence they had lapsed into by announcing, "John Winchester, I could just slap you."

"I wish you would." He didn't mean to sound like such an asshole. "It might provide me with the clarity I am lacking right now."

"Why won't you just go and talk to them boys?"

She fisted her hands on her ample hips and fixed him with her most reproving look. John knew she was waiting for him to say something, anything, that would explain why he was sitting here in her living room rather than going and meeting up with his boys. He just didn't have an explanation that would satisfy her. "Well?" she demanded when he remained silent.

John ran a callused hand over his face, hearing the thick bristles rasp against his fingers and palm. It had been days since he bothered to worry about things like shaving and sleeping. _Or eating_. He felt like hell and knew he musta looked like it, too. He told himself there would be plenty of time for those things when he got his answers. Until then…

"I wanna go and see 'em," he finally admitted in a voice that throbbed with his want, with his need to see his boys. To speak with them. To hold them for just a fraction of a second. To make sure they were alright. "Dammit, Missouri, you have no idea how much I wanna go and see 'em."

Missouri sat beside him on the couch. "Then why don't you?"

"Because I can't," he told her quietly. "Not yet. Not until I know the truth about what happened the night Mary died."

 _Not until I know how to protect them from this damn thing_ , he added silently as he looked down at the hands curled around his knees. Because there was one thing he promised himself and Mary on the night she died: he wasn't going to lose their boys.

Not like he lost her.

He would sacrifice himself before he would ever let that yellow-eyed son of a bitch have their boys.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope you're well!

This is tagged to episode **1x09**


	8. Wants

"There's gotta be somethin' you want for yourself," Sam said with mild exasperation. "I mean, haven't you ever wanted more than to tear ass down the highway and chase monsters?"

Oh, there were lots of things Dean wanted for himself. More than a couple bucks in his pocket, a place he could call home, their mom back. The thing he wanted most, though?

"I don't want you to leave the second this is over."

He walked over to the dresser, waiting for Sam to reassure him he wasn't going to walk away once they got done with Meg and her little shadow puppet and having the sinking feeling he was gonna be let down. Like always.

"Dude, what's your problem?"

Dean tried to gather his thoughts into some order. Their family wasn't big on heart-to-hearts after all. Feelings were things locked up in boxes with wards and charms drawn on them that were stored in storage sheds with even more layers of protective spells and wards.

"Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh?" He turned towards him. "I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?"

Sam seemed thrown by the question.

"'Cause Dad was in trouble. And 'cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom."

Dean wondered if his brother was _that_ dense.

"It's about more than that, man." He paced back and forth in front of the dresser. "It's about you and me." He paused. "And Dad," he finally said. "It's about wanting…." He swallowed back the fear and anxiety, ignored the little voice in his head warning him this conversation wasn't going to end well and shoved aside everything telling him to button his pie hole.

"Wanting what, Dean? What is it you want?"

"I want us all together again, Sam. I want us to be a family again," he clarified when he caught a glimpse of the confused look on Sam's face in the mirror. "That's why I came and got you at school. 'Cause I knew dad wouldn't, no matter how much he wanted to."

It was his deepest, darkest, and most shameful secret. Having them back together as a family was the one dream he allowed himself to have. It was the one damn thing he didn't feel guilty about wanting. It was also the only need he had beyond sex, pie, and air. His dad and Sammy were what got him out of bed every morning. They kept him fightin' even when the odds of winning were firmly stacked against him. They were the reason he didn't give up, cash it all in and walk away. Family didn't quit family, no matter how much they wanted too.

"Dean, we are a family." Sam gave him that sad-eyed look that always sliced him into a billion pieces. "And I would do anything for you. And for dad. But." God, Dean hated that word. Nothing ever good came when someone sad but. "Things are just never gonna be the way they were before."

It wasn't what he hoped to hear.

"It could be." He somehow kept the hurt from showing, but he couldn't quite manage to mask the sadness. "It could be, Sammy."

"I don't want things like they were before," came Sam's equally soft reply. "I'm not gonna live this life forever. I don't want to be a hunter for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, I know th..."

"Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."

 _Let me go my own way_ , Sammy said. Dean translated that as he needed to let him go. And he couldn't do that. No more than he could stop breathing. Because who was he if he wasn't Sammy's big brother? Who was he if he wasn't watching out for him? Making sure he was safe? Dean Winchester had no identity of his own. He was always called John's boy, that Winchester fella, Sammy's big brother. If Sam walked away, returned to his other life, he would be alone.

And he was so damn tired of being alone.

Dean looked at Sam once more, tempted to tell him that, but he turned and walked into the bathroom instead.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope the week has been good to all of you!

This is tagged to 1x16, **Shadow**.


	9. Giving Up

Bobby stared at the twisted mass of steel, shattered glass and bloodstained leather with a mixture of shock and dismay, fear and anger and all around relief that she could withstand the force of the semi-truck that rammed into her half as well as she had. _If she hadn't_ … well, he didn't allow himself to complete that thought. She had sustained the worst of the blow and thus saved the lives of her boys.

The damn thing was a wreck on four wheels. Fixing her up would require work. _A lotta work_. Getting the boy standing beside him to see that, though? Well, he imagined sawing off his foot with a toothpick would be a whole lot easier. Still, he tried to convince Sam that it was time to say goodbye to this car that was so much more than a car to him. And to Dean…

"Sam, there's just nothing here to fix." He kept his tone neutral, going for reasonable and logical over brutal and blunt. "The frame's bent more than a pretzel, and the engine's in more pieces than a jigsaw. There's barely even any parts worth salvaging for the scrap yard."

As he expected, Sam didn't agree with his assessment.

"Listen to me, Bobby." His tone was as serious as the expression upon his face. "If there's only one working part, that's enough."

"Sam…"

"Dean wouldn't give up on her." Sam shook his head. "I'm not giving up on her, either."

No, Dean wouldn't give up on her. Bobby knew that. He knew neither boy would ever give up on her. So long as there was something there that they could possibly fix, they would never let her go. _And why should they give up on her_? He asked himself as he stared into Sam's red-rimmed eyes. _She's never given up on them_. No, this 1967 Impala was the one constant in the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester. She was the one thing they could always count upon being there for them. She was the only thing that has never let them down. She was everything to them. And they would do everything in their power to bring her back from the brink of death.

"Okay," he finally told him quietly. "Okay, you got it, Sam. I'll tow her to the yard."

"Thank you, Bobby."

Bobby watched silently as Sam ran a hand over one twisted fender. He swore he heard a sound, almost like a tick of metal that was trying to unbend itself. He shook his head. _Getting dodgy in my old age_. However, something told him that the car sitting there with her body smashed nearly to bits and her inner works exposed to the early morning air wasn't done.

Not by a long shot.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, all! Hope the week has been good to you!

This episode is tagged to **2x01**


	10. Not Dead Yet

She sat in that tow lot, weeping 10w30 tears and bleeding buckets of transmission and radiator fluid. Physically, she's as broken and bloody as her boys. Her bones are twisted, mangled pieces of steel and chrome. Her flesh is shattered bits of wood and glass. Yet, she's nowhere near ready to roll over and say die. She wants revenge, same as her boys.

She wants to pay back yellow-eyes for hurting Dean - _her_ Dean.

She wants to teach the bastard not to mess with Sam - _her_ Sammy.

She wants to peel out in his face for stealing John - _her_ John.

She wants to...

"Oh, man," she can hear Sam say. "Dean is gonna be totally pissed when he sees her."

She knows Sammy is right. She knows Dean is gonna be pissed when he sees the damage done by that semi-truck. She can imagine the scene he's gonna make as he stomps all around her battered and bruised frame, cursing a blue streak at every dent, every ripple, every piece of steel he sees hanging off her. There are gonna be tears in his eyes as he gently strokes her crushed door panel, bent fender and busted front headlight. Then his face is gonna set in that way that says he is gonna make her good as new.

"Look, Sam." The old hunter who came with Sam to visit her lets out a deep sigh. "This... this just ain't worth the tow." He wipes a hand over his whiskered face and studies her with an eye that sees everything wrong. "I'm telling you we should just empty the trunk of everything that's necessary and scrap the rest."

See, she knows Sammy won't agree with what the old hunter is saying. He's only seeing the damage done to her outside. He doesn't know her heart is still beating. And that it will keep so long as she has Sam and Dean to keep her alive.

"No," Sammy replies firmly. "Dean would skin me if we scraped her."

"Sam..."

"No, Bobby." Sam stares at the older man with eyes that she sees are just a bit glassy. "When Dean gets better he's gonna wanna fix her."

"Sam, I'm telling you there's just nothing here to fix." He indicates her with a wave of a hand. "The frame's bent more than a pretzel, the engine's in more pieces than a jigsaw and the transmission looks like a cube. There's barely even any parts worth salvaging for the scrap yard."

Again, Sam doesn't agree with the hunter's assessment of her condition.

"Listen to me, Bobby." His tone is as serious as the expression on his face. "One working part on her is enough for Dean."

"Sam…"

"Dean isn't gonna give up on her," Sam told the hunter. "I'm not giving up on her, either."

No, Dean isn't gonna give up on her. Neither of her boys will ever give up on her. Why should they give up on her? She's m never given up on them. No, she is the one constant in their lives. She is the one thing those boys can always count upon being there for them. She is the only thing that has never let them down. She is everything to them. As they are everything to her.

"Okay," the hunter tells Sam after a few moments. "Okay, you got it, Sam. I'll tow her to the yard."

 _To the yard._

Where Dean will put her back together so they can tear asphalt in pursuit of that yellow-eyed son of a bitch.

 _Together_.

At the end of the day, together is all that what matters.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to **2x01**


	11. Tessa

"Your fight's over, Dean." There was a slightly sad smile trembling on Tessa's pale lips. And what he assumed was a reaper's equivalence of pity in the eyes lifted to his. "You need to accept that and move on."

"I do, do I?" Dean couldn't stop the trickle of amusement that crept into his voice. "And why is that?" He folded his arms across his chest and gave her what he hoped was his dirtiest look. "Because you say so?"

"Yes."

Her expression and tone were both adamant. As if she fully expected him to simply give in and do as she commanded because she commanded it. _Well, sister, you got another thought comin' there._..

"That's why?" He sniffed, once, to show his disdain for her order. "Because you say I gotta?"

"Your fight is over is also why you need to accept this," she patiently explained. "You have nothing left to prove, Dean. Nothing left that you need to do."

Dean didn't agree with her assessment. Not by a long shot. His fight wasn't over. It wasn't over by a long shot. Not with Dad and Sammy camped out at his bedside, bitchin' at each other over stupid stuff - like always - while waiting for his ass to return from its trip to La-La Land. There was no way in hell he could leave them. Not when there was so much left unsaid between them. There were too many mistakes not owned up for. Too many years spent keeping secrets and hiding truths not yet resolved. And there was still that yellow-eyed son of a bitch who put him in this hospital bed out there who needed to pay for what he did to Mom. No, his fight wasn't over. It wasn't over until they put a bullet in his ass.

"No." He turned to pace a few steps away, putting distance between him and her to avoid doing something he might truly regret. "No way. My fight ain't over. It ain't over at all."

"It is for you, Dean." He flicked his eyes over his shoulder and saw the slight bit of sympathy on her face. Heard it in her voice. And wanted to chew nails because of it. "There is no going back."

"My dad and Sammy will find a way to get me oughta this." His lips curled at the corners. "See, they aren't ready to toss in the towel anymore than I am. Not when that yellow-eyed son of a bitch is still out there and waitin' for us to put a bullet in him."

"Dean, you're not the first soldier I've plucked from the field." She speaks in what Dean assumes is her most patient voice. As if he was just some dog she needed to bring to heel. "The others all felt the same as you. They can't leave. The world hangs in the balance because of them. They have many things left they need to do. But they were wrong. Same as you're wrong." She stepped towards him and set a hand on his arm. "The battles went on without them. Same as they will go on without you."

Dean found himself tempted to give in. To toss in the towel and accept things as she wanted him to. However, pride and loyalty hammered back any selfish desire he might have possessed. Sammy and Dad needed him and dammit, he wasn't gonna abandon them!

"Maybe you didn't hear me." He turned so he could stare down into her face. "I said I ain't going no damn where."

"Dean-"

"No." He shook his head. "I ain't leaving my dad and my brother alone. They'll kill each other if I'm not around to play referee!"

 **"** Maybe they will," she allowed with a slight nod of her head. "But then again, maybe they won't. There's nothing you can do about it. You're done here."

"No." He doesn't growl it. There wasn't any need too. The way he saw it? He was simply stating facts. "I ain't."

"It's an honorable death, Dean." Tessa's fingers gently squeezed his arm. Silently beseeching; subtly tempting. "A warrior's death. You couldn't ask for more."

"Yeah?" He reached up and removed her hand from his arm. "Well, I ain't interested, a'ight?"

He turned then, meaning to head back to his room, to his dad and Sammy but Tessa letting out a sudden gasp of pain had him spinning around. What he saw rocked him to the core of his being.

Yellow-eyes replaced Tessa's chocolate ones.

"Well, seems like today is your lucky day," he heard above the buzzing in his ears. "Time for you to go home."

"What the hell?" he managed to croak around the giant lump stuck in his throat. "Where the hell's Tessa?"

"Sorry, the little reaper isn't in at the moment."

A hand clapped to his forehead before Dean could make a move.

Everything went bright.

Then dark.

* * *

 **A/N** : Hello, all! Hope life has been treating you well!

This is taggrd to episode **2x01**.


	12. Regrets

**"** Dean, I'm sorry."

Apologizing wasn't something that came easily to John Winchester. He learned to stop saying sorry the night Mary died. However, before he handed himself and the Colt over to that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, he wanted to say some of the things he never got around to saying. All the years where he didn't say or do the things he knew he should have, haunted him. Of his two boys, it was Dean he felt he failed the most.

Sure, he tried to be a good father. He tried to give both his boys the best he could. Looking back, however, showed him that teaching them about the monsters in the darkness wasn't nearly as important as playing ball with them in the front yard. _Had they had a front yard_ , he thought, face twisting into a pained grimace. Truth was, his boys had mostly grown up nomads. That 1967 Chevy was the closest thing to a home either boy had.

It never occurred to him that what Dean might have wanted wasn't what _he_ wanted. No more than it occurred to him that the life Sam wanted wasn't the one he gave him. For the longest time, he blamed his problems with Sammy on the fact they were just two different men. Him and Dean, though? They were almost carbon copies of the other. They shared a similar taste in clothes, music, food, booze. Even their choices in weapons and women tended to follow a similar vein.

And that, John knew, was because he had turned his oldest son into a mirror image of himself. He drilled into Dean from day one that evil was everywhere. Monsters were all around them. And he needed to be ready for whenever they decided to attack. He stopped being the father his son needed the night Mary died and became the drill sergeant he didn't.

"What?" Dean's eyes reflected his confusion and concern. "Dad?"

 **"** You shouldn't have been the one apologizing to me," he told Dean in a thick voice. "I should have been the one apologizing to you."

"Dad...?" He shook his head. "What are you talkin' about? What should you be apologizin' to me for? I'm the one who-"

"I should be apologizing for everything, son."

"For everything?" Dean's brow furrowed. "Dad, I'm not following. What-"

"When you were little, I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be." He breathed out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Hell, I'd be wrecked. And you, you'd come up to me and you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd..." The memories stuck in his throat and made speaking difficult. John swallowed them back, same as he swallowed back everything else that happened over the last twenty some odd years. When he again felt settled he said, "You'd stand there and say, 'It's okay, Dad.'" He lifted anguished eyes to Dean's. "I put too much on your shoulders. I made you grow up too fast."

"No, dad..."

"You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that, and you didn't complain, not once. I just..." He pushed down the regret swirling in his veins. Set aside the guilt burning a hole in his heart. Told himself there were no tomorrows to make any of those missed opportunities up. There was only that moment. And he had to make it count. "I just want you to know I am so proud of you. Of the man you've become."

"Dad?" The skepticism in Dean's voice hurt to hear. It was even more evidence about how much he failed to be the father that his son needed. "Is this really you talkin'?"

"Yeah." He nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah, it's really me talking, Dean."

 **"** Why are you saying this stuff?" Worry darkened the green of Dean's eyes. And drained what little color there was in his face. "What's going on?"

John could feel his time running out. Even now he could see the shadows in the corners of the hospital room stirring. Any moment and the yellow-eyed demon would come to collect the last part of their devil's bargain. He had to hurry. He stepped close to the bed and laid a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. Shoulders that already carried too much. "Look, I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"

 **"** Yeah, Dad, you know I will." Uncertainty replaced the worry now. "You're starting to scare me..."

 **"** Don't be scared, Dean." He gave his son what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Everything is gonna be all right."

 _I promise that everything will be all right_ , he added as he leaned over to whisper something - a burden he wished he did not have to place upon him - into Dean's ear. Dean stared up at him with eyes wide and mouth agape.

"You understand what I'm telling you, son?"

A nod was all Dean could manage. John smiled at him one more time before slowly turning to walk into the hospital room next to Dean's. The shadows were already there, waiting to take possession of him, to pull him from this world, from his boys. He accepted his fate, considered it his due and set the Colt on the table before telling them simply, "Okay."

The last thing he recalls is Dean pleading, "Come on, come on," before another voice, one he doesn't recognize and which he suspects does not belong to a doctor on staff, breaks through the nothing to say, "Time of death: 10:41."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope life has been good to all of you!

This is tagged to episode **2x01**.


	13. Damaged

He sees Sam's lip tremble and hears him when he says, "I miss him, man," but can't think of anything to say back. What was he supposed to say? That he missed dad, too? Hell, Sam already knew he did. So, was he supposed to tell him how there wasn't enough whiskey in the world to drown the sorrow burning a hole in his gut? Or to dull the guilt and anger simmering within all the other stink inside his head? He should know there wasn't. Not that Dean hadn't been doing his best to find the oblivion supposedly lurking at the bottom of every bottle of scotch, gin or whiskey he could get his hands on.

"I feel guilty as hell for all the things I said to dad right before the end. And I'm not all right, Dean. Not at all." He watches the play of emotions on Sam's face and feels like an even bigger dick than he already did. "But neither are you. That much I do know. You aren't okay, Dean. Not by a long shot."

Sam fell silent after that. Dean knew his brother was waiting for him to say something; anything. What could he tell him, though? That he was right? That he wasn't okay? Hell, they both knew he wasn't. Finally, after several moments passed, Sam sighed and turned away.

"Yeah, guess I'll just let you get back to work."

Dean watches Sam walk back towards Bobby's house, knowing he should go after him, but not able to bring himself to do it. His body trembles from the emotions tumbling around inside him. As he stands there, quietly warring with himself about what he should do, he realized there wasn't a place that _didn't_ hurt. He was one solid and never-ending wall of pain. Even the tips of his hair throbbed. He felt... too much. Any second he expected his mind or body to explode from the pressure building up inside him.

He turned and grabs up a crowbar from where he dropped it earlier. He grips it tight, feeling all his rage sliding down into the fingers wrapped around that cold metal. It erupts from him in one swing, sending glass spraying everywhere. Feeling alive for the first time in days, he takes his fury out on the only thing of dad's he still has. Over and over, he slams that crowbar down upon the dusty and dented trunk of his Baby. When he's left empty he tosses it to the ground and stares at the damage he's caused to the only thing, besides Sam and Bobby, of course, that matters to him.

He can fix her, though. With the right tools and the necessary parts, he can set Baby to right. Harder to repair was the damage to him and Sammy.

There simply weren't enough tools or parts to fix them.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, all! Hope life has been treating you well!

This is tagged to episode **2x02**.


	14. Night Moves

He knew he was a goner the second she pulled up beside him. Even his jaded heart couldn't help but admire her. Every line, every curve of her alabaster body was a marvel of perfection. Every inch was crafted out of heavy-duty steel and good, old-fashioned American no-how. Her every ripple was a reminder of when extreme pride and care went into the creation of things as lovely as her.

Even Baby hummed her approval at seeing such perfection.

In the glow cast by the sinking sun, she burned, searing his eyes and promising to singe his fingers should he ever manage to run them along her velvety side and across her silky-smooth trunk lid. A sea of chrome winked at him, tantalized him, captivated him. She inched forward a couple of inches on her polished sidewalls, making him think of a Mustang itching to roam wild and free across the prairie. Her engine sang him a siren's song, tempting him with an endless array of delights that had his mouth-watering, nerves pulsing, blood bubbling.

Bob Seger filled the moist silence with a song about night moves and a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes who helped chase away his awkward teenage blues. His lips kicked up at the corners. He had learned a lotta night moves in the back of his '67 Chevy. Curious now about the owner of such perfection, and wondering if she was anything like the woman in the song, he shifted his eyes to the woman seated behind the wheel. She was definitely black-haired, but her eyes were gray as witch-smoke instead of dark like molasses.

Those eyes studied him, openly curious, brimming with intelligence, and warm with humor. One dark brow lifted as a slightly sweet, and a shy smile hovered on her pale lips. She wasn't a beauty, not in the classical sense, but he felt himself falling just a little bit in love with her anyway. He was about to call out to her, suggest they exchange numbers, meet up for a drink or just run off to Vegas for the next month but Sammy elbowing him in the side knocked him from his slowly evolving fantasy.

"Huh?" He blinked and shot a look at his brother. "What?"

"Dude." Sam pointed at the light. "The lights green."

Dean looked and saw that the light was, indeed, green. A glance to the right showed him that his angel in the '65 Ford was nothing but a pair of headlights cruising up the road, Bob Seger singing about how strange the night moves trailing back to him on the summertime breeze...

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, all! Hope life has been treating you well!

This isnt tagged to any one specific episode. I consider it a deleted scene set after **2x02** and before **2x03**


	15. No, you won't

As Dean opened the door of the bar, he called over his shoulder, "I'll call you later, okay?"

Jo watched the door shut, heard the latch catch and listened to his footsteps slowly fade away.

"No," she whispered once she knew she was alone. "No, you won't."

That was because Dean never called. He wasn't the sort of man who ever would call. It wasn't his way, not his style. She knew that; accepted it. Just as she accepted it would be weeks, months, maybe even years before she saw him again. The one honest thing Sam - _or the thing inside Sam_ , she corrected as she turned to gather the supplies she used to treat Dean's wound - said was that Dean was very much like his father, John.

 _He didn't tend to stick around or call, either_ , she thought as she carried the items into the back room. They never heard from John Winchester again after what happened with her dad. Before tonight that would have made her incredibly angry. Now? Now, it just made her deeply sad.

For John.

For her and her mom.

And for Dean, most of all.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope all of you are being safe this celebration season!

This was written from a prompt on Facebook that said to start a scene with someone opening a door. It is tagged to episode **2x14**.


	16. Dammit, Dean

Bobby couldn't believe his ears when Dean told him about the deal he made with some crossroads demon. A year, he thought wildly. A goddamn year! Emotions rocketed through him as the implications of Dean's decision rolled through him. It felt like he got sucker-punched by a _kitsune_ and then kicked off a cliff.

He grabbed the boy - _man_ , really - and shook him.

Hard.

"What is it with you Winchesters, huh?" He demanded in a throaty rasp. "You, your dad. You're both just itching to throw yourselves down into the pit. Can't you wait to meet your damn makers when it is time for you to meet 'em?"

"That's my point, Bobby." Dean didn't growl it. He was simply too worn out at that point to. And that, more than anything scared Bobby the most. "Dad brought me back. I'm not even _supposed_ to be here."

"So?" Bobby's fingers curled into the sleeve of the flannel Dean wore. "What's your point?"

"I just..." Dean paused to swallow. "Well, I figured that at least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I-I- It's like my life could actually _mean_ something."

Fear and anger warred within him at those words.

"What? And you think it _didn't_ matter before?!" He shook Dean again, desperate to anchor him to this world and to the body he had been born in. "Have you got that low an opinion of yourself? Are you actually _that_ screwed up that you can't see that you matter?"

Dean didn't have to answer that question because Bobby already knew the answer. His head got screwed on backwards the moment John handed him Sam and told him to protect him. Taking care of his brother wasn't just something Dean did because he wanted to do it. It was something he did because John Winchester impressed upon him he had to do it.

"I couldn't let him die, Bobby." Dean's voice was barely above a whisper. And hurt all the more to hear. "I couldn't. He's my brother. I had to do something to save him. It was my one job. And I failed. So I had to fix it." The eyes that lifted to his were full of pain and suffering. "For dad."

 _John wouldn't want you fixing it by giving up your life, though, boy_ , Bobby told him silently. _He gave up his life so you could have one. Don't you know that?_

He didn't say any of that to Dean, though. What good would it have done? Deal been made and there was nothing he or anyone could do about it.

"How is your brother gonna feel when he knows you're going to Hell?" He left that question hang in the air for a moment before demanding, "How'd you feel when you knew your dad went for you?"

"You can't tell him." Dean's face and voice were hard as stone. "You take a shot at me, whatever you got to do, but _please_ , Bobby... don't you tell him about what I done."

Not that Bobby needed to tell Sam about what his brother had done. He suspected Sam would figure it out on his own after a while. If not, there'd be some jackass who would let the truth slip.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! I hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **2x22**


	17. Future

Dean stared into Sam's big brown-green eyes as he told him he needed to start thinking about finding a way to break the deal he made. Deep within those red-rimmed, swollen depths was a plea for him to worry about the future. About himself. He swallowed back the bark of laughter, the flood of bitterness, the smart-ass response, and the deluge of other crap forming a stink-hole in his belly before it could burst from his mouth like a demon being expunged from its meatsuit.

He turned to walk into the bathroom without saying a word. He couldn't stand looking into Sam's eyes and seeing the pain he was causing him. It killed him to see those puppy-dog eyes swimming with such hurt. There was just nothing he could about it. There was no unscrewing the pooch.

Not this time.

There was no loophole that was gonna change his fate. His future became set in stone the moment Dad placed Sammy in his arms, told him to get him outside, and not look back. Dean Winchester didn't have a future.

He had a _purpose_.

It was to make sure his brother survived at any and all cost.

And that was what he had done.

 _Worry about my future_? he thought as he looked in the mirror. Saw Sam's eyes reflected back at him amidst a sea of fire and brimstone. _Why should I?_

The future was here.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope the week has been good to you!

This is tagged to no one particular episode but is set in season 3.


	18. Vampira

There was only one true method for how to kill a vampire. Besides a bullet from the Colt, of course. The old-fashioned way, the one that had worked for as long as Dean had been a hunter was to simply take the sons of bitches heads off with the machete he inherited when Dad gave him Baby.

"Most vampire lore is crap," he remembered Dad saying the last time they hunted vampires together. "A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart."

 _But if you cut the head off the snake..._

His lips peeled back in a smile as his fingers curled around the handle of the gleaming blade. Man, there was nothing he liked more than cutting off a vamp's head. _Well, pie_ , he silently corrected. _And_... he cut that thought off as he swung the machete at the blonde fang rushing at him. The blade sang as it sliced through the bitches head.

One hiss and she dropped to the ground.

No muss, no fuss, no more Vampira.

Just the way he liked it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope life has been good to you!

This piece is written based on a Facebook prompt that read: Write how to get rid of a vampire. I immediately thought who better than Dean? ;) Tag to no episode


	19. Answers

"The answer is yes."

There might have been regret on Ruby's perfectly flawless face. Might have been. He couldn't rightly be sure. It was there and gone so fast that Dean couldn't say he saw what he thought he had seen. He slowly turned the rest of the way, one eyebrow forked at her comment.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes, the same thing will happen to you." She grimaced. The admission likely brought up memories she wished would just stay forgotten. "It might take centuries, but sooner or later Hell will burn away your humanity. Every Hell-bound soul, every one, turns into something else. Turns you into us. So yeah." She gave a slight nod of her head. "Yeah, you can count on it."

Dean wasn't surprised by her answer. He had known it would be the answer the second that he started thinking the question. He'd been screwed by the pooch so much now that he knew when another bend over the barrel was coming. Hell, he kept lube on hand just in case. Still, there was one more question sitting heavy on his mind.

"There's no way of saving me from the Pit is there?"

Ruby shook her head. Again, there might have been a moment's regret on her face. Might have been. Dean, however, believed it was all part of Ruby's act. Her way of suckering him and Sam into whatever trap being set. The bitch all but confirmed it when she sighed and said a short, succulent, "No."

Nope, Dean wasn't surprised by Ruby's answer. He had known he was screwed the moment he agreed to the crossroad demon's deal. He had told Sammy there was no way to get him out of his contract all these many months. To learn there was no way to break the deal? Well, that was just the icing on the cake.

He did, however, vow to do one thing before he became some Hellhound's chew-toy.

He was gonna gank the lyin', black-eyed bitch.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope you have a good weekend!

This is tagged to episode **3x09**


	20. Interrupted Indulgence

Dean saw her as he drove down the road that led to the craptastic hotel he and Sam had camped in the last few days. His heart did a little jig at again seeing such perfection. She — for all cars are female — was parked in a stall outside some hole in the wall diner he didn't even bother checking the name of. Every inch of her was exactly as he remembered: heavy-duty steel and good, old-fashioned American no-how having created a car of simple elegance and beauty.

Even Baby purred her want to cuddle up beside Mustang Sally.

In the glow of the sputtering street lamp, she gleamed. It was almost like she was preening, winking at him saucily and teasing him with the endless array of delights that awaited him should he dare throw caution to the wind. And Dean had to admit that his mouth _was_ watering. His fingers positively itched with the need to stroke that sea of chrome and ivory metal. Every nerve pulsed with a desire to feel that silky-smooth steel against his palm. His blood bubbled and boiled with the want to sit behind her wheel and just hear her sigh her pleasure and delight.

 _What the hell_ , he decided as he swung Baby into the empty stall beside her. _Ain't like Sammy is here to stop me from indulging myself._

And the way Dean saw it? He deserved to indulge himself a little after their last case.

The words of the other Dean came back to haunt him as he sat behind the wheel and listened to Baby rumble to silence.

"I know how dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror... and hate what you see."

 _Shut it, pal_ , he thought. _Still, ain't listening to the line you're tryin' to sell._

"You can lie to everyone else but you can't lie to me."

 _You ain't anyone so shut it._

"You're nothing," Inner Dean taunted in a tone that had his fingers clamping down so hard on Baby's wheel his knuckles popped and cracked like Rice Crispies. "A mindless and obedient dog. Daddy's little parrot."

 _Yeah?_ His lips kicked up into a sneer. _Well, you're still nothing but a voice inside in my head. Snap of my fingers and you're gone._

"And you're gonna find yourself all alone in the pit. No Sammy. No Bobby. No Daddy to come and save you."

 _Whatever_ , he told his other side before he opened the door and stepped out. _I got bigger fish to fry._

He didn't bother to add that he had a date with one sweet ass ride and her mysterious owner.

"You can ignore the truth all you want..."

He cut the voice off by shoving the driver door closed. Dean was just cruising around Baby's front end, anticipating finally getting a chance to fulfill his craving for some Night Moves when his phone went off. Even without looking he knew who the caller was: _Sam_.

"Son of a bitch." He silently seethed as he fished around in his pocket. "What?" he barked. "And this better be really important..."

Otherwise, he just might shoot his brother for interfering with his plans. He glanced longingly at Mustang Sally while he listened to Sam ramble on about some sighting of some demon or another. _One day_ , he promised her before he walked around Baby. _We'll have that date one-day._

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that the week has been good to all of you!

This is tagged to post-episode **3x10**


	21. Trickster

"Just take us back to that Tuesd— Wednesday," Sam instantly corrected. "Take us back to when it all started. _Please_."

"So, you two chuckleheads can come after me again?" He shook his head. "I think not, Sammo."

"Look, my brother and I won't come after you." Sam held his hands up, a soldier in full surrender. "I swear."

Still, he hedged. Not that he wasn't getting a kick out of seeing Sam beg, but there was more to this little session than met the eye. There was a lesson here to learn here. _One Sammy-boy clearly hasn't gotten._

"Even if I could…"

"You can." The quiet earnestness on Sam's face almost made him weaken. _Almost_. "I know you can. Look…"

"— just because I can doesn't mean I should," he interjected. "I mean, there are plenty of reasons for why I should just leave Dean smoldering on the pyre."

 _Like the prophecy that says that you and Dean will play a significant role in the coming apocalypse._

"Please, man. He's my brother."

And that was the problem. Something that Sam, for all his supposed brains, didn't seem to get.

"Sam," he said with as much patience as he could muster. "There's a lesson you need to learn here. One I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours for the past few months."

Admittedly, teaching Sam this subtle lesson about his co-dependency upon his brother had been the most fun he'd had in a long while. Not that he overly enjoyed killing Dean. Well, he didn't _dislike_ killing him, but still. He knew what Heaven's plans for Sam and Dean Winchester were. _And I will no sooner ruin those plans than I will return to the family fold._

"Lesson?" A frown puckered Sam's brow. "What lesson? That you can screw with us and there's nothing we can do about it?" He snorted a sound that was a combination of humor and exasperation. "Look, man, I get it. You've made your point. Alright?"

He swallowed back a litany of curses. _Is he really this thickheaded_? he wondered as he stared into Sam's eyes. _Can he not see just how corrosive his bromance with his brother is_? Well, he'd get it through that thick skull of his somehow. _Even if I have to beat it into him_.

"This obsession of yours with saving Dean?" He enunciated every word slowly and carefully. "The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other?" He shook his head. "Nothing good is ever going to come out of it. Just an endless amount of blood and pain and death." He saw the heated denial forming in Sam's eyes and held up a hand to cut it off. "Look, man, Dean's your weakness. I know it, you know it, and more importantly, the bad guys know it."

 _And not all the bad guys come from the land down under_ , he added silently. Much as he loved his father and brothers, he had to admit that they could all be one great big pile of douchebags.

"Yeah?" The word positively sizzled with heat. "What's your point?"

"My point is that it is gonna be the death of you, Sam."

"He's my brother."

"And that?" His lips kicked up at the corner. "That is why sometimes you just gotta let people go."

"No," Sam predictably replied. "No, I can't. I won't. He's my brother. Don't you get that? I'm never going to stop trying to save him."

"And like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him."

"Please," Sam begged. "Just—please."

"I swear, it's like talking to a brick wall." He heaved a long, frustrated sigh. "Okay, look, Sam. This all stopped being fun months ago. You're Travis Bickle in a skirt and I'm just so over it."

"Meaning what?" Sam demanded. "Huh? What's that mean?"

"You know what it means, buttercup?" He leaned towards Sam. "It means that it is for me to know and for you to find out." He sent him an easy-going smile. "Peace, Sam."

And the archangel once known as Gabriel warped away to his own private Garden of Eden. Or _Casa Erotica Cabaña_ as he called it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope the week has been good to you!

This is tagged to episode **3x11**


	22. Halloween Memories

Dean couldn't help it. He loved Halloween. He always had. It was his most favorite holiday. Halloween had been a blast when he was a kid. Sure, most of that stuff was campy now, and a lot of it was on the lame side, but that was all part of what made Halloween fun. It wasn't just a Sabbath or a night when the spirits could more easily inhabit the world. _Or move around freely and without worry of detection._

Halloween was the only holiday where he had some good memories of his Mom and Dad.

Mom would always bake fresh apple pies the morning of Halloween while Dad would check that the flashlight had fresh batteries in it. As the pies would cool on a rack, they would dump the candy Dad picked up the night before into a huge bucket Mom would place by the front door for when kids came knocking. Dad would then pack him, and Mom into Baby and they'd drive around to look at all the Halloween decorations before going to pick out his Halloween costume.

People had decorated liberally and freely then, taking part in the fun and festivities. He could remember how there were big, hairy spiders in thick, cottony webs, flying bats with red eyes, and grinning skeletons set around tables playing poker. Some people even went above and beyond, designing make-believe cemeteries and haunted houses that they opened to the public.

Grinning witches stirring cauldrons or riding broomsticks, vampires smiling toothy grins, and other monsters covered window displays and doors all around downtown Lawrence. The _Monster Mash_ would pump out over store sound systems, mixing with the excited jabbering of kids searching for the perfect costume all for going around town to get free candy.

 _And what isn't there to love about getting free candy_? He mused as he sifted through the bags of candy he snagged on his store run for one of the peanut butter and chocolate shaped pumpkins he snagged at the checkout counter. Everyone loved free candy.

 _Well, not everyone_ , he thought as he shot a look at his brother. Sam never got a chance to appreciate the holiday like he had. He had only been five-months-old at the time of his one and only Halloween. He couldn't remember that night like Dean did. He hadn't gotten to enjoy the fun of Halloween.

He didn't know how that last Halloween saw Dean dress-up in a pair of mechanic coveralls like Dad while he wore this teddy bear costume Mom had gushed over. _Man_ , Dean thought as he started emptying out the grocery bag. _Wish I had a picture of him as that teddy bear_.

It would be well worth whatever retaliation Sammy came up with.

After that yellow-eyed son of a bitch killed Mom, well, there were no more Halloween's for them. No more dressing up in costumes, going out to look at decorations, fresh-baked apple pies or trick-or-treating.

Halloween became just another night of hunting the monsters in the dark.

"Aha!" Dean crowed as his fingers found one of the pumpkin-shaped candies at the bottom of the bag. He pulled the candy out and held it aloft, triumphantly. "Found you!"

"Dean," Sam extolled on one long breath, "what the hell's wrong with you?"

"What?" He glanced at his brother as he unwrapped the candy and stuffed it in his mouth. "It's Halloween, man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's always Halloween for us."

"Yeah?" He pilfered through the bag for another pumpkin. "What's your point?"

"Nothing." Sam resumed scanning whatever he found on the internet. "Just go back to enjoying your sugar rush while I actually search for something that will help us find whoever is killing people."

"Oh, I plan on enjoying myself, Sammy," he assured him as he unwrapped the pumpkin. "Best part of Halloween is right here."

"Whatever, Dean."

"Hey, I can't help it." A grin tugged at Dean's lips. "I love Halloween."

"Yeah." Sam's lips kicked up at the corners. "I can see that." He shifted the computer around on the table. "Another body was found early this afternoon. Just hit the local papers."

Dean licked chocolate off his lips as he browsed the article.

"Same as all the others?"

"Yup." Sam nodded. "Chest tore open and heart ripped out."

"Call Bobby," Dean said as he grabbed handfuls of candy and shoved it in his pockets. "Tell him to meet us at the morgue."

"Yeah, okay." A frown creased Sam's brow. "Do you think it's a bit of a coincidence that these murders are all happening today?"

"It's Halloween, Sam." Dean looked at him as he popped another candy in his mouth. "Everything weird happens tonight."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is loosely tagged to season 3 but is not set in one particular episode.


	23. Ma Bell

_It was his worst hello, but it turned into his most favorite goodbye_...

…

He wasn't in the mood to be chatty when his phone rang a second after he hung up with Sam. He stifled a few choice words as he flipped it open and barked out a simple, "Yeah, what?" instead of a more acceptable form of _hello_.

He didn't particularly care _if_ he came off like a dick. This entire case was turning into something straight oughta the damn Twilight Zone. People talking with the dead via Ma Bell. He snorted a laugh as he waited for the person on the other end of the phone to reply to his caustic greeting. However, there was nothing on the other end but a faint sound of static. Annoyed even more, he glanced at the phone to check the number, but found he didn't recognize it. His brow knit as he puzzled that out.

"Sam?" He demanded finally. "Sam, is that you?"

It wasn't Sam's voice that broke through the static, though.

"Dean? Dean, is that you?"

Wave after wave of shock crashed over Dean as he recognized that warm, velvety tone. _Dad_ was the only logical thought that made it through the icy haze engulfing him. His mouth opened, but no sound came forth. It felt like he was being torn apart by invisible claws. He half imagined getting shredded by the hell mutts Lilith would send for him when his contract was up would hurt a helluva lot less than hearing his dad on the other end of the phone. For several minutes, he could only stand there, staring at the world through eyes that saw nothing.

Not the cars that drove by, the people who walked in and out of the businesses lining the street, not the cat eating a mouse in front of a dumpster parked in an alley behind some hole-in-the-wall burger joint. All he could fix on was the voice on the other end of the phone he held in one trembling hand. Finally, he worked around to one word, the only word his mouth and brain could twist themselves around enough to say.

"Dad?"

...

Yeah, it was his worst _hello_ , but Sam slamming the head of that son of a bitch, Clark, into a metal spike sure turned it into his favorite _goodbye_.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **3x14**


	24. For a Moment

Bela Talbot had done many things in her short life. She admitted, without shame or regret that she was greedy, manipulative, and more than a tad selfish. She did not feel guilty if people got hurt or even killed while she acquired the items she'd been hired to find. If people were not so careless with their things, if they didn't make deals they had no hopes of repaying, if they didn't cross the wrong person... well, she wouldn't have been hired to take their possessions. In her rather admittedly jaded opinion, the world was beyond saving.

In hindsight, she wasn't overly proud of a few of the things she had done. She'd screwed more people than a high-priced call girl. Many of those people had not really deserved to have their possessions taken or their lives ended. Her biggest regret, though was the deal she made ten years ago with a crossroads demon. Granted, she didn't feel any remorse whatsoever for using the deal to murder her parents.

Mummy and Daddy got what they deserved. However, there were other ways she could have used to have accomplished the same outcome. Course, the realization of that came on the eve of her deal's end, but Bela still had hope that she could get around her fate and beat becoming a demon's new plaything in hell.

"Her name's Lilith," she said as calmly as she could. "She is the one who holds your deal. She holds all deals, actually."

"Lilith?" There was a soft speculative hum and then Dean asked, "Why should I believe you? Huh? After everything you've done, why should I believe that this isn't just some other line you're trying to feed me?"

Even knowing it for the truth, it still stung to hear.

"You shouldn't believe me," she admitted with a slight grimace. "But it's the truth, Dean. I swear it."

The roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires muted out any other sound for a few moments. Finally, there was a sigh and Dean resumed speaking.

"This can't help you, Bela, not now. It's too late for you. The hellhounds are coming to make you their new chew toy."

She swallowed the bile that rushed into her mouth at those words.

"I know."

"So, why are you telling me this then?"

"Because maybe," she managed around the hard lump in her throat. "Just maybe, you can kill the bitch."

Dean didn't say anything at first. Bela half wondered if he had hung up on her. It was what she deserved after everything she had done to him and his brother.

"Yeah, well, if we don't kill the bitch," Dean said brusquely, "I'll be seeing you in hell."

Then there was a click and silence. Bela sat there with the receiver of the phone pressed to her ear, her breath coming in short, tattered gasps. She slowly set it back on the cradle as a clock in the distance started to chime.

Midnight.

The witching hour.

The end of her time on this disreputable rock. A lone, mournful howl echoed in the distance.

For a moment, Bela imagined it was merely a wolf calling to its mate.

For a moment, she thought she would be okay. She'd wake up on the morrow and find this was just her wild imagination working overtime.

For a moment, she allowed herself to believe there were no hellhounds lurking outside her door.

For a moment, she was almost right.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **3x15**


	25. Beginning of the End, Part 1

Sam couldn't believe what Dean just said. _Where is all this coming from_? he found himself wondering as he watched the myriad of emotions playing upon Dean's face. What caused this? Was it not finding a way to break the deal finally catching up with him? Or something else? Sam didn't know. He damn sure aimed to find out.

"What are you saying here, Dean?" He managed around the lump in his throat. "That you're ready to throw in the towel? Because that?" He shook his head. "That's not gonna happen." His tone was firm about that. "You understand me? It's not gonna happen."

"Not what I'm saying at all." Dean's eyes, however, said differently. A shiver of alarm streamed through Sam, but Dean continued talking before he could recover. "I'm saying you're my weak spot, Sammy."

Sam could only stare at his brother as the impact of those words slammed into him. Shock and disbelief mixed with the hot flood of anger and bitterness that pumped under his skin. However, under all those virulent emotions was a slippery, slimy worm telling him that Dean was right.

"No." He denied it as much for Dean's sake as himself. "No, you're wrong."

Dean sent him a sad smile from over one shoulder.

"You are," he said. "And I'm yours."

Tears, pure sentiment filled Sam's eyes, clogged his throat.

"You don't mean that," he choked out. "We're… we're family, man."

"I know." Dean nodded. "And those evil sons of bitches out there know it, too. I mean, what we'll do for each other, you know, how far we'll go?" He swung his arms wide. "They're using it against us. Because they know we'll go as far as it takes to protect one another."

"So, what?" Sam asked slowly. "We just stop looking out for each other? Stop trying? What are we supposed to do here, Dean?"

"We stop being martyrs, Sam. We – we – we stop spreading it for these demons." He picks up Ruby's knife and brandishes it. "We take this, and we go after Lilith, but we do it our way. The way Dad taught us to do things. And if we go down..." he paused. "Well, at least we know we went down swinging."

Sam could only stand there, struggling to think of some small bit of logic that would refute what Dean said, but came up with nothing. What was there to say? That he was right? He was. That they needed to do this the only way they knew how: balls to the wall? He knew they did. Everything they fought for, their dad died for, and they managed to accomplish because of those collected sacrifices demanded they give their all.

However, as right as Dean was, he was also wrong about one thing: he wasn't going to give up on him.

Not without a helluva fight.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **3x16**


	26. Beginning of the End, part 2

"This is about me and Sam." He peered at Dean through slightly narrowed eyes, not sure he was hearing him right through the slight buzzing filling his ears. Dean confirmed his suspicion when he added, "This isn't your fight."

Bobby Singer could only stand there in the middle of his salvage yard and listen to Dean tell him how this fight wasn't his and that he didn't need to get involved. Fury reached up to choke him and kept him from saying or doing anything for several minutes.

 _You stupid son of a_... he thought as his fingers twitched at his sides. How the hell could Dean say that to him? After everything, they had gone through after their daddy's death? All the fights they had gotten into? The jobs they worked? The whiskey they guzzled down? Before he could think better of it, he stormed up to Dean and got right in his face.

"The hell it isn't!"

Surprise raced across Dean's face. Bobby knew he was not used to having anyone outside of his daddy and Sam get into his face and call him out on his crap. However, Bobby had reached the end of his patience with the oldest Winchester and decided it was time to tell him a thing or two before they went off to meet their makers.

"Family don't end with blood, boy."

They didn't begin with blood, either. Not that he added that part. He didn't feel like he needed to tell Sam and Dean that. No more than he felt a need to explain why he ended up raisin' them for a time. They didn't need any reminders about how their daddy had been too busy searching for the son of a bitch who murdered their mother to focus on raisin' them. And they may act like a pair of prancing princesses at times, but they were still great in his — admittedly jaded — opinion. They were more than great, actually. They were his.

And they weren't going off to fight for Dean's twisted soul without him.

"Bobby…" Dean began but Bobby cut off whatever line he was about to feed him before he could even get it off the grill.

"You two jackasses need me."

"Bobby..."

"You're playing wounded, Dean."

"So?" Outwardly, Dean's face showed nothing. However, you couldn't con a con artist. Bobby knew he had rattled the boy by revealing he wasn't all there. "What's that—"

"Tell me." Bobby knew he was badgering the hell outta Dean. And steppin' all over his insecurities. However, it was the only way to get things through Dean's thick skull. It was the only way to get things through John's thick skull, too. _Just like your damn daddy, there._

"How many hallucinations have you had so far?"

Dean visibly swallowed as Sam turned to look at him, confusion and a good deal of fear stamped upon his face. He then looked over at Dean who avoided his gaze.

"How'd you know?"

The words were barely a mumble.

"Because that's what happens when you've got hellhounds on your butt." When Dean frowned at him, he added, his tone like flint, "And because I'm smart."

Dean stared down at the ground, clearly unsettled at having his secret outed. Bobby couldn't help that. It needed sayin' and he figured he was the only one capable of sayin' it. He handed him the distributor cap he had swiped while he and Sam had bickered in the basement.

"I'll follow," he said before he turned to walk to his car. "And don't be stopping to pee every ten minutes, either."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **3x16**


	27. The Beginning of the End, Final

Reality, such as it was, took its sweet time in returning. All Dean was aware of when his mind finished circling the drain was razor-sharp claws poking and pulling at him, scratching at his already thin skin until he thought he would split apart at the seams. Peals of laughter echoed across the dark expanse, chilling him to the marrow, and reminding him of the last moments of his worthless life.

He was trapped in this deep, dark well. And he was gonna stay that way because there was no escaping this pit.

Not this time.

His worthless hide was here to rot.

Dean wondered if this void was the one Ruby tried to warn him about. _If it is, well, I got news for her_ , he thought as he tried to force himself back to a state of consciousness. _It sucks balls_.

Dean felt his conscious mind start to stir and reached out to grab hold of the pinpricks of light forming red balls behind his eyelids. He managed to lever open his eyes. Everything around him was some bizarre shade of green. Not emerald, not pea soup, not even army fatigue green. It was just some sorta weird shade of green that made his gut twist, heart clench, and head throb as if he had one helluva hangover. Thick clouds, blacker then the night skies over Kansas swirled all around him, slapping at him with hands formed from the thick vapor, and tearing at his already fractured flesh with invisible claws.

Dean turned his head and saw there were chains stretched for as far as his blurry eyes could see. Thunder boomed, and lightning crashed. A fire bolt sizzled along every synapse and caused him to cry out despite his every effort not to give the sons of bitches the pleasure of him doing so. A bright bolt of pain shot through his body, causing every nerve to shudder in agony, and every muscle to weep for mercy.

Try as he did to prevent it, a scream burst from his mouth, causing the things hanging at the edge of his visual field to laugh with glee. He tried to move, to roll away from the nails shredding his flesh, but his arms and legs are held fast by a series of thick chains.

He felt the bite of something going through his right shoulder and anchored his head back to see a hook protruding from his flesh. Terror rose up to choke him as the full weight of what he was going to endure sunk home.

He was trapped, body and soul.

There were no means of escape at his disposal.

He had absolutely no hope of any type of mercy or salvation.

All those ways he would have once used to deal with what they planned for him were unavailable to him here. His weapons, Baby, Bobby, Sam they were all way outta his reach. They would be until after this place wore him down and turned him into one of the black-eyed jackals Sam and Bobby would have to hunt.

Dean was alone, stretched out like a Christmas feast, and at the macabre whims of whoever might come to take a bite outta him.

Fear burned through the pain and he felt an almost ridiculous urge to cry. He stifled that crap quick. Sobbin' like a baby was the last thing he would ever do. He was made of sterner stock than that. Dad made him a soldier. And soldiers didn't cry.

They looked for ways out of their situation.

"Help!" He shouted into the void. "Somebody help me!"

A cloud swirled up and punched him, rocking his head back and causing him to see stars. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and rained down his chin. Still, he called out to the only person he thought could manage to find a way to rescue him from his fate.

"Sam! Help me!" Desperation dripped from every syllable and sickened him. "Sam!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **3x16**


	28. Columbo

An angel.

A friggin' angel.

That's what Columbo called himself. An _Angel of the Lord_. Dean softly scoffed. Angel of the Lord his left foot. Weren't any such things as angels. Not that Dean had ever seen, anyway. Even Dad wrote in his journal how no hunters he met believed in angels. Demons, sure. Those black-eyed jackals were everywhere.

"Get the hell out of here." Something in his gut warned him to check his words. His mouth, like always, was on rapid-fire. "There's no such thing as angels."

Columbo gazed at him with an expression eerily similar to that puppy dog one of Sam's. His brother had been rocking that look since birth. He had it down to a science. Whoever this fella was? He wasn't anywhere near Sam's level. Still, Dean found himself squirming a little.

He couldn't help it.

There was a connection between him and Columbo that Dean didn't quite understand. As if they shared some sorta history. That was ridiculous, of course. He was pretty sure he'd remember meeting a nerdy fella who thought himself an angel. _Not the kinda crazy Sam and I tend to run into._

And they had run into plenty.

 _He said he's the one who lifted me from perdition_... Dean mused as he looked the so-called angel up and down. _Does that mean he's the one responsible for me getting outta Hell_? If so, did it mean he could he be trusted? _Or is he another Ruby_?

"This is your problem, Dean." Columbo heaved an almost despondent sigh before resuming his study of the book Bobby read from earlier. "You have no faith."

"Buddy, you have no idea how little faith I have."

Columbo gazed at him with those eyes that saw more than Dean liked. He felt more exposed than a girl working a stripper pole. Columbo breathed out a little sigh right before an almost blinding light filled the warehouse. Behind him stretched a pair of wings longer than he was tall.

Dean wondered if it was his eyes or brain playing tricks on him. There was no way this nerdy little dude in a trench coat was an angel. There was no such thing as angels.

Right?

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

This is tagged to episode **4x01**


	29. Shades of Doubt

Dean Winchester was dead.

Bobby knew this for a fact. He had seen the boy's body after them demonic pit bulls got done with it. Swiss cheese had fewer holes than Dean's chest and abdomen. Pudding had more consistency than his innards. There was no life in them eyes staring up at him.

Dean Winchester was dead.

There was no changing that. Not that Bobby could see, anyway. Sam, of course rambled on about figuring out a way to get his brother back. Bobby knew it was the grief talking. The shock. Once it all sunk in, Sam would realize his brother wasn't coming back.

Not this time.

How'n hell he kept it together as he helped Sam wrap that cold, empty shell in a sheet and carry him outta that house was beyond him. He wanted to build a pyre right away. Give Dean the hunter's funeral he deserved. Salt and burn his bones so he wouldn't end up becoming a vengeful spirit.

Sam wouldn't hear of it. Said his brother was gonna need his body when he got him back. Bobby gave in. Old fool that he was, he allowed himself to believe that the kid would find a way to get his brother back to them.

His hands and knees shook as he placed Dean inside the coffin he and Sam built. His heart broke as he dug that grave in the middle of nowhere. A part of his soul died as he helped Sam place that plain pine box into the ground. Part of him died the day they buried the boy — _his_ boy, dammit — in that field near Pontiac, Illinois.

No, Dean Winchester was dead.

He had been for four months now. Even knowing that the figure standing before him wasn't Dean, Bobby still found himself wanting to reach out and grab them. Hold on and never let go. Suspicion quickly replaced shock and anticipation. Weren't no way it was Dean standing in his doorway. Just weren't no way on God's green Earth.

"Surprise." A small, hesitant smile graced that oh, so familiar face. "Miss me?"

Sure, they sounded like Dean. Looked like him. Moved like him. They were wearing his meat like a cheap demon suit. The rest was a combination of luck and his fool brain wanting to see what it schooled his features into an impassive mask, and palmed the silver knife left on a small table by the front door for such purposes.

"I, I don't..."

"Yeah, I don't get it either." Not-Dean held his arms out from his sides as he stepped over the threshold. "But here I am."

 _Not for long_ , _pal,_ Bobby thought right before he lunged forward, swinging the knife out from behind him in one smooth move. Whatever was wearing the boy's meat anticipated the move because he snatched his arm and bent it behind him. Bobby hadn't been born yesterday. He learned how to escape from all sorts of holds over the years. He cracked the damn thing in the face with his fist before slashing at him again.

"Bobby!" Not-Dean said as he stumbled towards the kitchen. "It's me! I swear it!"

"My ass!"

He lunged again but not-Dean shoved a chair between them to ward him off. Not that it'd keep him at bay for long.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!" Not-Dean held a hand out and gazed at him earnestly. "Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed." His voice was ripe with emotion. "You're the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby," he rasped. "It's me."

All Bobby could think was, _you_ _can't con a con artist_ 'Cause that's what this was: a con. Well, he wasn't buying. He'd teach this wolf in a Winchester meat-suit about trying to pull the wool over his eyes. He moved towards him, feigning submission as he placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. Bobby wanted the figure in front of him to really be Dean. He wanted it so badly he ached with it.

For one crazy moment, he allowed himself to believe that it was Dean he touched.

That the boy had come back.

He was home.

"It's me." Not-Dean burst the bubble he almost allowed to engulf him. "It's me, Bobby."

 _Dammit, boy, I wish it was you,_ he thought, heart aching, soul weeping _. There just ain't no way._

Because Dean Winchester was dead.

And soon this thing would be, too.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope life is being good to you!

This is tagged to episode **4x01**.


End file.
